


Shawarma in the Rain

by sarahcakes613



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Post-Avengers Shawarma Scene, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 21:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Steve and Tony's friendship as it grows in the first year after the Battle of New York, as told through times they eat shawarma.(Can be read as pre-slash, or just growing friendship. YMMV.)





	Shawarma in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Picture it, if you will.
> 
> OTTAWA - A PARK. IT'S RAINING.  
Sarahcakes stands watching the crowd around her. Mr. Cakes approaches.  
Mr. Cakes: We just came up with a great fic title - Shawarma in the Rain. I'm giving it to you.  
Sarahcakes thinks for a moment, begins typing a note to herself on her phone.  
Mr. Cakes: It would have to be Stony, obviously.  
Sarahcakes turns her phone so he can see the note she has already written. It just says "shawarma in the rain, stony, post battle of ny".
> 
> That's literally the entire genesis of this story. My husband and his friend coming up with the title because they were discussing our very own likelihood of eating shawarma in the rain.

1\. The first time Steve tries shawarma is not actually at the end of the Battle. Sure, it's the first time he hears of it, first time he smells that blend of sizzling meats and spices, but the food never actually makes it to his mouth. He is tired, bone-tired, in a way he has not felt in <strike>weeks</strike> seventy years. It's the exhaustion that comes after a painful but ultimately successful melee, when he finally has a chance to close his eyes but all he sees is exploding fractals against his eyelids.

He takes the opportunity instead to look around the table at his new teammates. He tries not to compare them to his old teammates, but the similarities are there. Thor reminds him of Dum-Dum, all bluster and bombast hiding a tactical mind. Agents Barton and Romanoff are like Gabe and Jacques, they have a language all their own that Steve cannot comprehend, but it allows them to communicate in more than words, and watching them fight is a symphony in motion.

Dr. Banner reminds him of Bucky, which is a funny thought, but fitting the more he thinks about it. Like Buck, Dr. Banner is an unassuming fellow, only making himself known when he is needed, and then proving to be extraordinarily useful in a fight. Steve thinks Bucky would have liked the Hulk. Bucky had loved science fiction, and what is the Hulk but, like Steve himself, a creation right out of _Amazing Stories_.

The only one Steve can't find an adequate comparison for is Tony Stark. The easy answer doesn't fit, the man in front of him reminds him very little of Howard, and Steve is sure there is a story there, but he is fairly certain he doesn’t want to know it. It pains him to think that the easy-going inventor he knew, the man with the smooth tongue and fondness for fondue is gone, and Tony’s got the same way with words, but there’s nothing easy-going about the way he holds himself, the way he very carefully flinches when things come into his peripheral vision.

He flushes when he realizes Tony has caught him watching, turns his eyes to trace the condensation running down his pop can. He swigs from it and the bubbles dissipate on his tongue like air. It tastes nothing like he remembers, the sugar replaced at some point with something less tangy and more syrupy-sweet. It burns going down his throat, but leaves him feeling more dehydrated than refreshed.

When he lifts his eyes again, Tony is still looking at him. This time, it is Tony who looks away. He fiddles with a napkin, balls it up, smooths it out. He’s not in his armour, and in his jeans and long-sleeved shirt he looks very little like the picture of a man who just saved an entire city from nuclear destruction. Steve wants to say something, but there are no words, or what words there are stick in his throat like the aftertaste of sticky-sweet cola.

2\. The first time Steve tries shawarma is actually some weeks after the battle. He has moved his one duffel into Tony's tower, has been given the ten-cent tour. Thor is off-world, Agents Romanoff and Barton back in their SHIELD quarters, so it is just himself, Dr. Banner, and Tony, rattling around the partially rebuilt, newly christened Avengers Tower.

The three of them keep wildly varying schedules, Dr. Banner and Tony holed up doing science late into the night, while Steve still keeps himself to a military schedule, up at 5h30 and in bed by 22h30 every night.

All this to say, his interactions have mostly thus far been with JARVIS, so when he wanders into the communal kitchen shirtless and covered in a sheen of sweat after a workout one morning, he is surprised to find he is not alone.

Dr. Banner is standing by the counter, an assortment of foil trays open in front of him. He looks up when Steve walks in, smiles shyly. His eyes don't move below Steve's face.

"Dr. Banner, good morning." He greets the other man, walking over to the sink and pouring himself a tall glass of cold water.

"It's Bruce, please," Bruce says. "Can I interest you in some dinner?"

Steve blinks.

"It's 7 am." He points out.

Bruce shrugs.

"When you've been up all night and your last meal was yesterday at lunch, this is dinner, you know?"

Steve doesn't know, but he nods anyhow. He could eat, is always hungry.

“I’d be happy to sit and eat with you, just uh -,” he waves at himself. “I’ll go put a shirt on.”

Bruce shrugs, his own body’s habit of constant transformation leaves him with remarkably little shame in the nudity department.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be here.”

Steve runs down to his quarters, scrubs down in a quick combat shower and gets dressed, then heads back to the kitchen.

Bruce is already well into his meal, and Steve looks dubiously at the platters, trying to work out what everything is.

"It's shawarma, from that place we ate after - well, after." Bruce shrugs. "Turns out, I really like shawarma."

Steve nods again. He piles his plate high with rice, potatoes, pale pink somethings that turn out to be turnip, and shredded meat. There is a creamy white sauce, and he follows Bruce's example, pouring it over the meat.

His first tentative bite turns into a fierce shovelling of food to mouth as the flavours explode on his tongue. He doesn't entirely know what he's eating, couldn't name a single spice, but it's easily the best thing he's eaten since waking up. He swears there is a distinct flavour to the way immigrant communities cook, no matter where they came from, and shawarma is nothing like his ma's cabbage, but it tastes like home all the same.

Even with two serum-enhanced metabolisms to feed, there are plenty of leftovers. Bruce wraps everything back up and heads off to get some sleep. On his way out, he asks JARVIS to please remind Tony to eat something sooner rather than later.

He tosses a sleepy salute in Steve’s direction, and Steve is left alone with his thoughts.

3\. Steve still feels awkward talking to JARVIS, still feels like he should direct his questions to the ceiling despite knowing the System is integrated into the entire building, walls and all. Nevertheless, he tilts his face up to the ceiling when he speaks.

“JARVIS, when did Tony last eat?”

“Mr. Stark had a smoothie at 9:28pm last night. He has not eaten since.”

“Has he slept?” 

“Yes, he had a thirty-minute nap at 1am as per Ms. Pott’s sleep-work protocol. He must stop working for a period of at least thirty minutes every 8 hours or I am instructed to lock down his access to his work.”

It’s nearing 9am, which means Tony hasn’t eaten in almost 12 hours. Even unenhanced as he is, he is probably hungry. Steve carefully reheats some of the rice and shredded meat, allowing JARVIS to operate the microwave controls for him. He takes the plate down to the workshop floor and raps a knuckle on the glass wall as he walks in.

“I thought I told you to get some sleep, Brucie, just because I’m an insom – oh. You’re not Brucie.” Tony peers up at Steve through a pair of goggles.

“Ah, no. Sorry. He’s gone to bed, I just thought maybe you’d like something to eat.” Steve puts the plate down and steps back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait, no, Cap, sit with me. I feel like we haven’t really had a chance to talk since you moved in. How’s life treating you? You adjusting okay? Not getting lost on the information highway?”

Tony stops talking long enough to put a dent in the plate of food, and Steve takes the chance to respond before Tony’s questioning starts up again.

“It’s fine, it’s been good. I’ve been doing a lot of reading. JARVIS has been pretty good with finding me stuff that isn’t too heavy on bias when it comes to catching up on world history.”

Tony grins.

“Glad to hear it, Cap. It’s good to be careful, there’s a lot of misinformation out there.” He waves his fork in the air. “Hell, you should hear what the internet says about me. Actually, no, bad idea, don’t go looking for me online, nothing for you to see there.”

Steve nods slowly. He has some idea of what he might find, based on chatter he’s heard around SHIELD, and it’s none of his business what Tony does as long as Iron Man’s good in a fight. He suspects that anything the internet says probably pre-dates Tony’s time as Iron Man, his time these days seems to be spent mostly in his workshop or in the lab with Bruce.

He’s pulled from his musings by the sound of fork hitting plate, and he looks up to see Tony looking bewildered as he realizes he’s eaten everything and his plate is empty. He ducks his head to hide a grin. There’s something endearing about the way Tony behaves when they’re alone, when he drops his persona and Steve gets to see the real thing. It still feels strange to think about Howard in the past and Tony in the present, but they are easier to separate when Tony’s façade is down, his true self so unlike the man Steve knew during the war.

4\. Six months after Steve wakes up is Thanksgiving. He’s got a handful of dinner invitations, all agents he’s worked with on SHIELD missions, all wanting to be the one who gets to say they hosted America’s Icon on an iconic American holiday. He politely refuses them all.

The holidays are both easier and harder to cope with than he expected. He is happy to note how many of the same traditions and customs have remained in place, but his heart aches when he thinks about all the people he might otherwise have been celebrating with. He says as much to Tony in passing one evening, and something like understanding shimmers in Tony’s eyes.

The fourth Thursday in November dawns bright and clear, the first hints of winter frost just creeping up the windows. He’s got a great vantage point from his bedroom window of the parade route, so he sketches parade floats for a while before heading down to the kitchen to fix himself something resembling a festive supper. Steve is nearly alone in the tower, Bruce is spending the weekend with some friends from university, and Pepper is in Malibu. He’s pretty sure Tony won’t emerge from his workshop at all this weekend, but that’s okay. He’s used to eating big meals on his own.

Tony’s in the kitchen when he gets there, back to the door, bent over the open oven. Steve stares at Tony’s back, the shift of muscles in his calves. He swallows, a dry click that is loud enough to alert Tony to his presence. The other man stands, faces him.

“Hey, Cap! Did you watch the parade? How great are those floats, hey? I keep telling Pep we should sponsor one, but she doesn’t think they’d go for a giant floating me.” He shrugs.

Steve grins, imagining a 40-foot floating Iron Man.

“Yeah, they are pretty great. I sketched a couple of them, thought I’d look them up later. The big blue fellow was neat, kind of looked like one of the dwarves from Snow White?”

Tony tilts his head, then he snaps his fingers.

“Papa Smurf! The Smurfs, animated television show from the 80’s, based on a comic strip from the 50’s. JARVIS, see if you can find any of the comics online, send them to Cap’s tablet.”

“Right away, sir. I’ve also taken the liberty of locating a variety of other comics from that era that Captain Rogers may enjoy, given his interest in animation and drawing.”

Steve’s tablet pings, but he doesn’t look at it. He’s distracted by the still open oven door, and he leans down to see a foil pan filled with rice, vegetables, and what looks like shaved slices of turkey.

He stands back up and sees Tony looking uncharacteristically shy, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Just didn’t seem right, you’re being alone for your first big festive meal since you thawed. I know it’s not really traditional, but I figured, there’s nothing saying shawarma can’t be turkey, right?”

Steve can feel himself lighting up, doesn’t bother trying to hide his relief at not being alone for dinner.

“No, I suppose there isn’t. Thanks Tony, really. I appreciate it.”

Tony waves a hand, reticent as ever to accept thanks. They talk comics while they wait for the food to be ready, and when Steve goes to bed that night, he feels, for the first time maybe since he woke up, something like real gratitude for what he has.

5\. There’s a shift in the way Tony talks to Steve after Thanksgiving. It’s less rapid-fire, more like he’s trying to have a real back-and-forth conversation. Like he’s talking _to_ Steve, not _at_ him. They’ve started eating dinner together a few days a week, slowly working through the list of things Steve has never tried, things he used to be allergic to, things that didn’t exist seventy years ago. The day he tries ramen for the first time will go down in history books, quite possibly literally, after Tony nearly starts a riot when he publicly tries to bribe David Chang to leave Momofuku and work in-house at the Tower.

There’s also a shift in their friendship, a slow release of tension between them that Steve didn’t realise they had until he notices it’s gone. He stops looking for Howard in Tony’s expressions, and Tony stops trying to shock him with contemporary societal attitudes. When the second anniversary of the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell repeal rolls around, Steve releases a simple statement on his official Twitter account coming out as bisexual. It makes a splash on the news cycle, but he’s gotten used to ignoring it when pundits talk about him like he’s not an entire actual human being.

When he walks into the kitchen for dinner that night, there is a sheet cake on the counter covered in blue and pink frosting, with purple piped letters reading WELCOME TO THE CLUB. He laughs, swipes his finger through the frosting and brings it to his mouth.

“Ah ah young man, you’ll ruin your supper if you do that!” Tony chides him as he strides in carrying two bags from a local Lebanese bistro.

Steve pulls his finger out of his mouth with a pop.

“Young man, Tony, really? Ran out of grandpa jokes and thought you’d circle back around?”

Tony tilts his sunglasses down to look at Steve.

“Well, if we’re going on time awake, I am actually fifteen years older than you, so I think I’m entitled to it. Now come on, junior, let’s have a shawarma party.”

Tony doesn’t comment on the cake’s statement, and Steve doesn’t ask. He knows that information is undoubtedly out there on the internet, but it doesn’t feel right to go looking. He knows Tony is single, knows he tends to fall back on Pepper when he needs arm-candy for an event. He very definitely doesn’t think about how he might look on Tony’s arm, Tony in a fitted tuxedo, himself in his army service uniform.

He blushes, hiding it by lifting his kebab wrap to his mouth. It’s a daydream at best, he knows Tony only sees him as a friend, and it’s not like they have all that much in common beyond a shared interest in fighting aliens and eating shawarma.

Tony is telling him a story about Butterfingers, his hands waving in the air as he speaks, and Steve’s own hands itch for his pencils. He’d love to draw Tony in motion, one of those little flip-books like you used to get in Cracker Jack boxes.

He’s distracted by Tony’s hands, doesn’t notice Tony’s eyes tracking him in turn, and when their two-man shawarma party winds down, he doesn’t notice the contemplative look on Tony’s face as he watches Steve walk away.

6\. It’s been almost a year since the sky opened over New York City, and the upcoming anniversary has everyone feeling tense. Steve is still seeing a SHIELD-mandated counsellor, but the focus has so heavily been on his struggle adjusting to the 21st century that they haven’t spent much time talking about the Battle.

Steve amps up his morning runs, spends more time pounding heavy-bags in the gym, because as long as he is awake, as long as he’s wound up, he doesn’t have to worry about unravelling.

Tony is equally antsy, spending days on end in his workshop. Steve brings him dinner every night, but the plated meals go uneaten. Steve doesn’t know if Tony notices them, or even notices him standing in the doorway. They don’t exchange more than a handful of words over two weeks.

He misses their easy conversations, but more than that, he misses the way they’d been slowly drawing closer to each other. He likes to think he’s done a pretty good job of showing an interest, and even more so, he’d like to think he hasn’t been imagining that interest being reciprocated.

The morning of the anniversary is the worst kind of pathetic fallacy. The very same sky that once poured aliens now pours rain from clouds heavy and sombre, the rain drowning out everything but the sound of Steve’s own blood rushing in his ears.

There is a ceremony at City Hall, speeches from various important people, and Steve stands at attention in his Captain America suit wishing he were warmly ensconced back in the communal kitchen of the Avengers Tower. He and Tony are the only Avengers at the ceremony, though Tony is there as Tony Stark, the man behind the money that is rebuilding New York, not as Iron Man, the man behind the suit that saved New York from further destruction.

As soon as he feels he can get away without seeming rude, he is gone. He walks with no real destination in mind, but isn’t surprised when he lands up in front of the shawarma restaurant two blocks from where the Hulk roared consciousness back into Iron Man one year ago. It’s open, and he ducks under the awning, tries to shake off the worst of the rain before walking inside. Much like last time, the restaurant is empty but for the employees. He chooses a seat near the counter, close to the heat of the ovens and away from the chill that pours in through the door. He doesn’t look at the menu, just asks them to bring him a plate of whatever’s fresh and hot and they recognize him, which means they don’t question him when he asks for double servings.

The door bangs open while he’s eating, and at first he thinks the wind has picked up but then the chair across from him is getting pulled out and he looks up to see Tony, his bespoke suit damp, rainwater dripping from his hair. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down across from Steve. They sit there, neither one speaking.

The spell that has frozen them is broken by a waiter bringing over a fresh basket of food for Tony, whose hands shake only slightly as he brings fries to his mouth. Steve’s eyes track the movement of Tony’s mouth, opening, chewing, sucking salt off of his fingers.

This feels like a more fitting way to commemorate the day than all the speeches at City Hall. There’s still work to be done, and Steve will be there to do it, but just for today, he’s going to enjoy this, sitting with a friend, in a shawarma restaurant waiting out the rain.


End file.
